


Komorebi

by lighthouse



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.2 Spoilers, Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Character Study, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, POV G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, Post-Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse/pseuds/lighthouse
Summary: After so long living  and working for the sake of others, G'raha Tia is learning what it means to live for himself...and takes steps toward securing a future together with the soul he loves above all others.A brief character study of the Crystal Exarch, and how building his first garden helped shape his life on the First.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	Komorebi

The Exarch sighed, let his quill drop, and buried his head in his hands. _This is never going to work, I’ll have to start over…_ he thought to himself, tangling his fingers into his hair in frustration as he stared down at his calculations. This wouldn’t do, it was far too early in the day to be at an impasse, and yet every time he set to write his mind would wander, and then there would be foolish, easily preventable mistakes. It was already the third time that afternoon, and when he attempted sorting the issue, his mind failed to comprehend equations that usually came to him easily. 

It was early summer, and it was _sunny_ outside. Not the blinding, acrid dryness of overbearing Light, but true and healthy summer, with life-bringing rain and a gentleness to the wind that he had not felt for nearly a hundred years. The elf trees were in bloom for the first time in living memory, the vendors were beginning to make iced cream, and there was talk going round of perhaps holding a festival.

And unexpectedly, inexplicably, blessedly, his dearest inspiration professed to love him, and was still in residence at the Pendants. After all he’d done, the agony and heartache to which he’d subjected them and their dearest comrades…they were adamant that he was deserving of their love, but it was still a struggle sometimes to believe it, a wonderment to wake up and remember that they remained at his side by _choice_.

Truly, he’d thought they would be off as soon as they’d physically recovered from their ordeal carrying the Light. So much remained at stake on the Source, and along with the last remaining Ascian the Empire ever loomed as a threat. Yet to his surprise, aside from their weekly trip home to take stock of the situation and aid in the scattered fighting, they felt they weren’t urgently needed on the Source and seemed quite content to remain at the Crystarium. They read books to children at the Cabinet, took shifts off the Guard, filled in when there weren’t enough people to cover whatever job needed doing for the day. Regrettably there were quite a few shortages of staff since so many had left try their own hands at heroism, and he’d worried at first that his love would burn out, but as far as he could tell they were genuinely happier than he’d ever known them to be.

To know that he was a part of that joy filled his heart so much that it stole his breath away, colored his days with beauty, lent a vibrance to his life that he’d forgotten he was capable of experiencing. He rested his chin on one hand and twirled his quill with the other, well aware that a crooked smile was gracing his features and not caring in the slightest. They had given the First…and him…more than he had ever dared to dream of, brought him back to himself. After all those years sliding together into a monotonous, numbing sameness of apprehension and aching hope, this was halcyon peace…and he was coming to realize that a goodly part of him didn’t know how to function.

All he had known for a century was an ever-pressing lack of time, the weight of his promise to the survivors of the Eighth Umbral Calamity, the fear that his efforts would not be enough to save the soul he loved above all others. Anxiety had chipped away at the back of his mind every moment he was away from the Umbilicus—what if he was wasting his time, what if that one hour, that one day lost was the one that mattered in the end? Of course he ventured out because he loved Lyna and his people, because it was necessary to run the city, because he might have gone mad otherwise, but even as he longed for fresh air and companionship it was always a relief to be back in his study.

Now that he’d put the Scions in harm’s way with his botched summonings, he couldn’t think of anything else to do but to return to his previous habits and apply them to a different cause. When he’d first started this research in earnest, the guilt had weighed him down heavily, and despite numerous entreaties from his warrior and his companions in study he had spent nearly every waking hour at his calculations. He barely had time to walk the city and perform in his role as caretaker, much less excuse himself to indulge in his hero’s tentative requests for day trips. What would his people think? What would his love really think, to see him happily dallying about—even at their invitation—when the Scions might die for his mistakes?

What would he do with all this love in his heart when they left?

Shamefully he wondered if that fear was part of his inability to make progress, but also knew a number of other factors were at play.

Whereas previously only Lyna scolded him for hiding away in his study, there was now his warrior to contend with, and the rest of the Scions as well. He was well capable of obstinance, but it was so _challenging_ to turn down his love’s requests, and when they left it was only so long before one of the Scions would show up to distract him. That they were working in tandem he had no doubt. Every few hours there would be someone asking if he’d taken a break, bringing him tea, asking if he’d come out for a walk or a spar. His presence was expected at dinner at the very least, and in bed at a reasonable time of night. 

At first it had driven him to near panicked distraction, torn between desperation to not fail them and obliged to accept at least some of their incessant well-meaning invitations. More vexing still, he found himself enjoying being welcomed into their lives, _wanting_ them to come visit, even as he struggled with focusing on his research and the perceived lack of time in which to complete it. He had been so beside himself that he’d made the mistake of offering to sacrifice his life if all else failed to send them home—and that had been the true breaking point. He would never be able to forget the stricken, angry look on his love’s face, Alisaie’s heated exclamation that his life belonged to the Warrior of Darkness, how as a unit the Scions had commanded him to _live_.

When he’d finally escaped their presence, it was all he could do to close the door to the Umbilicus and lean against it, ears pinned and trembling as he tried to sort out what respecting their wishes and _living_ would actually mean, how he could reconcile what they were demanding with the nature of his responsibilities--and realized that he didn’t know. Perhaps, however, a good place to start would be with agreeing to a few of his love’s proposed outings, even with misgivings in his heart.

Little by little, he allowed his warrior to coax him away from his work, first for just a few hours of reading together at the Cabinet or strolling the markets. Then, against his better judgement he joined them for a day of fishing in a little rowboat just off the isle of Ken, and another time on a hiking trip through the forests of Lakeland. He kept expecting one of the Scions to hint that he was neglecting his duties, but though he searched their eyes for blame or judgement he found none—even Y’shtola spared him her sharp words. When his love hopefully suggested a couple of days away to go camping in Il Mheg, he hesitantly accepted, heart aflutter and wondering. It was there, in the questionable privacy of an impressively sizable hollowed log, that they’d lain among the flowers and dared to explore one another as they never had before, there that the young man within had fully woken in all his passion and dangerous wanderlust.

From that point on, it was with a fire newly lit in his soul that he first accepted an invitation to go hunting together alongside the Viis in Rak’tika, and then to tour the villages making their new starts in Kholusia. Despite his newfound vigor, he had worried at first that he would not be able to keep up, but over time he and his inspiration had learned together how long he could be away from the Tower and maintain his energy, until they had it down to an art. If ever it happened that he found himself flagging early, well, then he got to snuggle back into their arms and let the sweet, safe beating of their heart lull him to sleep as they winged their way home over Lakeland.

And thus did he begin to find it ever more difficult to focus on the finer mathematical points needed for his research, what with the anticipation of another outing always just around the corner and his unruly body ever longing for teeth grazing at his neck and those weapon-calloused hands running a sure path down his stomach. In the back of his mind he knew he was in danger of being remiss, and sometimes the panic and guilt still got the better of him and made him relapse into his old ways for a time. The patience his love showed him during those moments of uncertainty was so undeserved, so appreciated and welcome…Through this, all these disappointing relapses and fits of wondrous discovery, did a joyful and terrifying new nature of hope begin to take root and grow in his heart. 

By now he’d had some time to think on what it meant to live, and for a while he thought perhaps it meant to _want_ , constantly and without reprieve, forever weighing desire against responsibility and practicality. But of late he came to believe it was more than that, because gods only knew he’d spent his whole life wanting. No, it was wanting and accepting that what he wanted was deserved and valid, and then taking it one step further into acting on what he wished for. He’d never been a passive man, had fought all his life for everything that came to him, but whereas before he’d recognized in theory that most of what he had done was for the sake of others, he was coming to understand it in truth. 

Oh so gradually, what once was a vaguely entertained notion—furtively and shamefully longed for in the still hours of the night—became a guilty scribble, then a thoughtful single entry, and at last a bold full-fledged log in his research journals.

Perhaps he’d done enough for the First. It was such a struggle not to feel selfish, but perhaps it was finally enough. If he could just get these equations to work, there could be room in the auracite for one more set of memories, for one more traveler to return home. 

Allowing himself to act on this newfound dream proved frightening and liberating in equal measure, his own stake in its success haltingly developing into something more profoundly personal by the day. Somehow, this made it even more desperately challenging to focus.

And then on top of all this, in just the past week he found himself beset by waves of crushing fatigue such as he’d never experienced, and his crystallized arm had developed a nagging, bone deep ache that would not shift. In his heart he feared that the parts of him which were still mortal were reaching their limit. It tore him between wanting to bury himself in the work that just _might_ offer him the chance to live at his hero’s side, and wishing to spend as much time as possible with his love while he still could.

The Exarch closed his eyes, took a deep breath to still his restless thoughts, and closed his calculation book. Perhaps a change of scenery for a while would prove beneficial.

He could have used the aetherial mirror to search for his warrior—they wouldn’t mind—but even after all this time the thought of possibly invading their privacy made him uncomfortable. Instead he took his usual stroll to the Pendants and checked in with the manager of suites, as the man had struck up something of a camaraderie with his love and tended to know their basic plans for the day.

Just as promised, he found them in the Sweetsieve aiding the botanists, diligently turning up rows of mulch to lay in the tomatoes and paprika for the summer. Limned in sunlight, they smiled at him and raised a hand in greeting, sweaty and uncharacteristically rustic in a gardening hat and rather muddied trousers, dirt smudged haphazardly across their nose and one side of their face.

Gods, he loved them so much.

“I’d hug you,” they said, eyes alight as he approached, “but as you can see, I’m disgusting.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he said airily, and embraced them anyway.

“Ah, you’ll dirty your robes,” they chided, but didn’t pull away.

He knew there were eyes on them, indulgent smiles in their direction, and where once the attention might have made him blush and step back, these days he (mostly) found encouragement in his people’s unspoken show of love.

“Possibly it’s time I dirtied them,” he sighed, finally stepping back to look into his lover’s eyes. “I’m driving myself to distraction in the Umbilicus.”

“I’m glad you realize that for yourself now,” they said, running a knuckle tenderly over the sweep of his freckled cheeks. Well, that still made him blush, and he would have kissed them had he believed he could keep it to a simple peck. Perhaps understanding his thoughts, they gave a chuff of laughter and dropped a soft kiss on his forehead. Someone giggled in the distance, and his ears twitched helplessly.

“Well, I suppose we’d best get to work, show me what you’re doing!” he said a bit too quickly, fumbling at the clasps of the outer decorative layers of his robe.

A few minutes later found them across from one another on their knees in the soft, dark loam. While he used a hand spade to dig a hole to the instructed width and depth, his love carefully freed the sprout from its temporary clay pot. After the plant was placed, together they gently filled in the soil until everything was secured, then measured off a space and began the next hole. He’d thought that they would talk to pass the time, but found himself inclined to appreciative quiet. There was something calming and profound about the way his warrior cradled the tangle of young roots and topsoil in their hands, treating even the simplest of life with care, finding yet another way to restore vitality and verdancy to the First. It was always humbling to see how gentle they were, how kind, even after all they had been put through. He wondered what they were thinking about, their brow lightly furrowed and eyes distant as they went about their task. Perhaps in time they would tell him, if indeed time was granted them.

By the time they finished, covered in grime and bangs stuck to their foreheads, the sun was beginning to sink on the horizon, bathing the sky in hues of pink and orange. Earlier one of the researchers from the Hortorium had set up a fire pit in anticipation of the work’s completion, and the smoky, mouth-watering smell of barbecue wafted through the air. It was hard to believe there was a time when he never felt hungry. Of late he appreciated food very much, had even taken up cooking again and enjoyed presenting meals to others so thoroughly that sometimes his plans for dinner drove his mind away from his work.

Eagerly they washed their faces and rinsed their arms in the cool water from the copper hose, then offered their assistance in preparing dinner. Unsurprisingly they were turned away, and his love pouted until they remembered that there was lemonade being served at the Wandering Stairs. Laughing to themselves about their plan and their rather woeful appearances, they snuck off together and ordered ten pitchers of lemonade in varying degrees of sweetness, then teased one another as they tried to carry it back on trays without spilling any. They could have used the aetherytes, but that would have been cheating and not half as fun.

The night was warm, but that didn’t stop him pressing up against his inspiration’s side as they shared miq’abobs stacked with juicy steak and roast onion, drank mildly sweetened lemonade, and listened to stories around the crackling fire. They sounded so happy, their eyes sparkling in the firelight, as they recounted the pranks played on them by the pixies when they first arrived in Il Mheg. He’d worried that his warrior would be asked to speak on some of their grander battles and that the levity would be sapped from the night, but was touched when no one brought it up. Then again, after centuries of nothing but desperate struggle, perhaps everyone was tired of talking about it. At some point they looped an arm around his waist, and with a bashful smile he gave in, closed his eyes, and leaned his head on their shoulder. His arm twinged but he didn’t care—there were so many other beautiful sensations to enjoy. The steady beat of their heart, the light summer breeze lifting his hair, the smell of roasting apples, the unfettered laughter of his people. A smile tugged at his lips, and a new peace washed over him as he turned to bunt at his love’s shoulder. 

The citizens of the Crystarium were safer than they had been in a hundred years, free to call on their resourceful, positive natures to pursue a new era of rebuilding. They didn’t need him to watch over them any longer, if ever they had in the first place. They would be fine, and he could go home.

He jerked upright, unaware that he’d been nodding off, as he realized his love was speaking to him.

“Ah, what? Forgive me,” he rushed, ears pinned and tail stiff with embarrassment. “I seem to have, er, lost track of the conversation.” They opened their mouth and looked to ask something, then thought better of it.

“I’m told you have a rather lovely garden hidden away down here,” they said instead, cheeks flushed as they regarded him with a hopeful smile.

“Oh, that,” he said guiltily, just barely keeping himself from saying _that old thing_. The grandparents of some present had helped him plan and build that garden, and it would not do to speak disparagingly of their memory. “Yes, I do like to go there and read sometimes.” He also neglected to say that it had been more than a year since he’d last stepped foot there, and it was very likely that the whole place was ashambles.

“Show me?” they asked, the very picture of unabashed eagerness. He stared at them, hoping they couldn’t see the panic surging through his tail.

“Now?” he asked eloquently.

“Yes! Oh, ah…unless you’d rather not,” they amended, ducking their head with embarrassed realization, perhaps as aware as he was of the others watching them.

“No no, now is fine,” he said hastily, “The request was just…unexpected.” Sweet Azeyma, he would give them anything they asked, even if it was likely that he was about to fall a notch or two in their eyes. They took a moment to thank everyone for the food and companionship, accepted a couple of piping hot apples wrapped up for later, and then were on their way down a less-trodden brick path meandering away from the Sweetsieve and around the Tower base.

“Truly, you don’t have to take me,” they murmured apologetically once there was no one in earshot. “I wasn’t thinking and got a little carried away, shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

“Ah, I don’t mind,” he answered, daring to reach out to take their hand as they walked, keeping himself from adding _I’d take you anywhere_. “It’s just been a while since I’ve tended this garden…I’d rather forgotten about it, with everything that was going on. Please, do temper your expectations—this is nothing like the garden up in the Tower. A rather amateur first attempt, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” they asked, regarding him with soft eyes. “Now I want to see it even more.” He blushed and turned away, feeling slightly ridiculous at how giddy just walking hand in hand with them made him, how personal and comfortable, how _right_ it felt to lace their fingers together. His whole existence centered on that point where their warmth connected and became one, and he was grateful for the companionable silence in which they walked as he did not trust himself to words at the moment. Much sooner than he wished the mingled wood and crystal gates appeared before them. With a regretful sigh, he let go of their hand to place both of his on the doors, which opened as smoothly as ever.

“Well, here we are,” he said with some trepidation, leading them in and lighting the lanterns with a wave of his hand, frowning when a few remained dark. He should have expected that he supposed, considering they’d never been used.

“Oh Raha,” they exclaimed, “what were you worried about? This is beautiful.”

He blinked with surprise as he saw not an overgrown mess, but a fairly well-kept botanical enclosure. Yes, some of the ivy had wilted and weeds had taken over a bit, but the water hyacinth and cattails had been carefully cropped back, and there was evidence of recent repairs on the gazebo railing. The perilously leaning willow to the right of the stone path had a new stake propping it up, and under the fully bloomed wisteria trellis to his left were pots of tulips and ferns waiting to be planted.

 _Lyna_ , he thought to himself, swallowing thickly.

“It was never meant to be a night garden, obviously…” he said faintly. “I…I’m afraid I’ll have to take you back in the day, when you can see it more clearly.” 

“What I _can_ see of it is lovely. I thought—are you okay?” they asked suddenly, their brow furrowed with concern. He gave himself a shake, ears perking to attention.

“I’m fine! I was just…thinking of Lyna. When she was small she used to love to come here and play, and feed the fish. Once when she was about five years old, she dumped an entire sack of fish food into the pond…it was the first time I scolded her, and I felt terrible when she cried.” The warrior gave a puff of laughter and regarded him warmly.

“I’m sure she’s forgiven you by now,” they said with a smile. “She adores you, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he said quietly, tail swishing gently as he looked about the darkened garden. He could remember clearly as yesterday how she had delighted in planting rolanberries in the spring and insisted on checking the plants every day to see if they’d ripened. How she had terrified him scrabbling to the topmost branches of the oak tree flanking the pond, sticks and leaves caught in her hair as she proudly reported what she could see beyond the garden walls. How she curled up next to him in the gazebo and listened attentively while he read stories of heroes past.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think on it much, but he knew he was going to miss her terribly, that he was going to hurt her badly with his selfishness. Indeed it was natural for children to eventually have to say goodbye to their parents, but this…he only hoped that she could forgive him. No, he knew she would—she was stout-hearted, practical, and kind, and she would understand. He just desperately wished that he didn’t have to ask this of her, his only family, the dear little girl who had unknowingly helped him through some of the most difficult parts of his life.

He swayed as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him, and suddenly he felt very heavy, and very aware of how dirty and sticky the day’s work had left him. A steadying arm wrapped tentatively around his waist, loose enough to give him some space if he needed it, as they looked to him with an unreadable expression.

“Tired?” they asked simply, and he nodded—no point trying to hide it now. “Shall we head upstairs then?”

“But we haven’t made it past the entrance yet,” he protested weakly, hating the idea of disappointing them, cursing this useless fatigue. If this kept up, they would worry, and they might think twice before asking him to join their adventures, might curb their wonderful, infectious, renewed enthusiasm for life…it was all speculation, but he didn’t think he could bear it if they starting handling him carefully as did so many others in his life.

“We can come another time, and don’t worry, I’ll remind you. I’m just…I’m just pleased you allowed me to see something that’s clearly so personal to you,” they said, looking away self-consciously. His heart skipped, and he turned slowly in their arms to offer them an affectionate nuzzle.

“The way you’ve welcomed me into your life…it’s the least I can do to welcome you into my own, such as it is,” he murmured, resting his head against their chest and wishing they could sleep right there. They puffed a sigh into his hair, nuzzled at a downturned ear.

“Raha, only you would look at the life you’ve lived and say ‘such as it is’. But come on, let’s get you home.” When they stepped back and offered their arm he gladly took it, knowing it was done more out of desire for closeness than because they thought he needed help. Although he normally didn’t care to use the aetherytes to get around the city, he could tell from the rare appearance of their limp that they were both feeling the effects of the day, and was a blessing to arrive at the steps to the Ocular so quickly. He gave them a questioning glance when they unlatched their arm from his—they knew he didn’t mind signaling their relationship in public by now.

“Thank you for today, for coming to help, and…and everything else,” they said quietly. _Ah_ , he thought to himself with realization.

He hadn’t invited them to his rooms, and despite all they’d done together they _never_ asked, and he sorely wished they would sometime. Then again, he’d never asked them if he might join them in their rooms in the Pendants, because it felt imposing. And when they did come up to his rooms, it was always on some pretense, although they both knew very well that what they truly wanted was to lie down together at the end of the night. It was getting a bit ridiculous, and he was going to have to do…something…about it. Surely they must know by now that he’d give them anything…although, perhaps that was part of the issue? He was suddenly unsure of himself, but they were waiting for him to reply, and he was too exhausted to be able to gracefully skirt around what he wanted to say. Tentatively, well aware that the gatekeep was probably watching, he reached out to pluck at his love’s sleeve, run a thumb over the thinning cotton.

“Come sleep with me?” he asked quietly, unable to meet their eyes. He could almost physically sense their surprise at his directness, but they recovered quickly.

“Of course, I’d love to,” they answered, sounding almost _reverent_ , and when he chanced to meet their eyes and see the wonder, the sheer weighted tenderness there, that it was directed at _him_ …it was all he could do to not fall against them that very moment. This time they were the one to reach out to him and lace their fingers together, and though his steps were heavy with weariness as they climbed the stairs, his heart was somewhere with the stars above.

It was a sweet relief to be shucked of their begrimed work clothes and stand under the shower together helping one another to wash. Bleary though he was, he took his time as always to marvel over them as he worked—the scars, freckles, and mixed tan lines a silent testament to their active and varied life. When it was his turn, he relished every pass of the soapy rag over his back, his fatigue heightening the sensation, making him feel acutely every accidental brush of fingertips against his skin. When they were both rinsed to satisfaction his warrior reached out and turned off the water, pulled down a fluffy towel, and pulled it tightly around them both in a snug secondary embrace. Oh, how alive they made him feel, how delightfully aware of every square ilm of his body…!

“Hmm,” he murmured, so tired that lights were beginning to pop before his eyes—but not too weary to angle himself meaningfully backwards into them and delight in the resultant gasp. “Want you,” he whispered, throwing caution to the wind and bunting at their shoulder, reveling in how they nuzzled at his ears in return, their chuckle rich and promising.

“You’re exhausted,” they said with fond amusement, and he hummed as a calloused hand pressed a path down his stomach, cupped between his legs. “See, you’re not even roused.”

“Oh, but I will be,” he purred, curling his tail around their thigh. “I just, hmm…need a moment.”

“Gods, sometimes I feel like you haven’t aged a day,” they laughed against his neck. “Come on, let’s get dried off.” As soon as they gave him a bit of leeway he turned to tangle his fingers in their hair, nipping along their collarbone and up their neck, delighting at how they jumped as they attempted to dry the both of them. Payback came in the form of a hand squeezing at the base of his tail, thumb tracing a firm line up and down the underside as they toweled at him, and he couldn’t help but squirm.

“Hn! That’s…hardly…fair!” he panted, sensation driving him to his tiptoes and trying to decide whether he wanted to push closer to them or push back into that hand for _more_. He settled for a rather graceless combination of both and made them both stumble. 

“It’s fair, you’re being difficult,” they responded with hoarse amusement, and when they nibbled along the shell of a pinned ear his knees nearly gave way.

“Please,” he whispered, “please, let’s just go to bed.” Eyes ablaze, they surged forward to kiss him, and it was an awkward and breathless trip they made through the doorway and into his room. At some point they stumbled into bed, and as soon as he landed on his back he pulled them down flush to him, wanting them closer, always closer. A stuttering breath tore from him as both of their hands reached up and began to smooth his ears down and back.

“Close your eyes, rest, I’m here,” they whispered as they stroked, comforting and firm. It took every last ilm of his consciousness to lift up and nuzzle _hard_ under their chin, and then he was fast asleep. 

He was woken the next morning by radiant beams of sunlight pouring through open drapes, and with groggy confusion he sat up to survey the room and come to his senses.

He was alone. He was alone, and he’d…His eyes widened, ears pinning in mortification as he remembered. _Oh Sweet Azeyma!_ In his fatigue it seemed he’d taken utter leave of his senses, shamelessly led them on, and then…fell asleep like the old man he was. Worse still, it was nearly midday…no wonder they’d left. Horrified and thinking to make amends, he turned and slid out of bed, heart in his throat as his feet hit the floor—then paused as he finally noticed a carefully arranged plate of fruits, crackers, cheese, and tuna salad at his bedside. Surprised out of his panic with the unexpected gift, he reached out slowly to pluck up the handwritten note next to the tray.

_Good morning Raha!_

_Sorry to leave so early, but when I woke I was seized by an idea, and could not help but see it done. Pray take your time to enjoy breakfast, and I’ll come get you later when I’m done. Love you more than you’ll ever know._

He read over it a few more times, heart rabbiting for an entirely different reason now. Overcome, he finally sank down to sit on the bedside, a smile wobbling on his lips as he stared from the note to the food like a fool, imagining his love quietly stealing about the room earlier that morning.

He would have to get some research done today, because he was never going to be able to live without this again.

Despite his determination, it proved a bit difficult to achieve the proper focus when his eyes kept drifting to the door of the Umbilicus, wondering when his love might show, what they were up to that drew them away from bed so uncharacteristically early. Eventually, he turned his back to the entrance with a huff in hopes that he would not be so distracted, and from there was able to clear his mind enough to make a minor breakthrough. Excited with his discovery, he grew ever more engrossed in his calculations—and was so surprised when they rested a hand on his shoulder that he jumped and gave a most undignified squeak.

“Ah, sorry!” they exclaimed, stepping back with their hands up in a show of peace. “I’d called to you several times and you didn’t respond.”

“Don’t worry about it!” he grinned, tail flicking as he remembered how excited he was to see them. “My thanks for the breakfast—it was lovely,” he added, rising to fold them in an embrace. They smelled wonderful, like citrus and herbs, and when he tangled a hand in their hair he found it damp. “Did you already have a bath?” he asked, leaning back to regard them curiously and surprised to find them dressed simply in a flowy white shirt and comfortable, form hugging boots and trousers. 

“I did, and you’re welcome,” they said with a smile, pulling him back up for a lingering kiss. He needed a moment to clear his mind before he said,

“I…forgive me for last night, I was, ah…” he fumbled.

“Exhausted beyond all reason?” they filled in, then gave a puff of laughter. “Don’t be sorry, you were quite fetching, and I was fair beat as well. In fact,” they said slyly, sliding hands down to grip his hips and pull him in close again, “…I’m still tired, didn’t get enough sleep last night. Would you perchance like to come take a nap with me?” He took in a shaky breath at that suggestive tone…gods, it had been nearly a week, and after last night’s aborted efforts…He took in another breath, let it out, and leaned back to smile sharply at his love, pleased with how their mischievous expression faltered.

“I suppose my research can wait a few hours, and I confess I wasn’t as focused as I might should be anyway.” They gave him a moment tidy his logs, and then it was his turn to be confused as they took his hand and led him not to the door leading upstairs, but out of the Ocular and down the stairs toward the Exedra.

“Where are we going?” he asked, puzzled as his love began to activate the aetheryte.

“You’ll see!” they answered with a smile, though he didn’t miss the nervous expression that flashed over their eyes as the teleport took hold. They ended up at the Rookery, and bemused understanding began to dawn as they made their way back through the Sweetsieve.

“The garden again?” he asked, and they nodded without looking at him. As they came upon the gates, he made to reach out and open them…and aborted the move with a fond smile as they opened to his warrior’s outstretched hand instead. Of late the Tower had grown to accept his love’s touch more and more, although up until now it had always been realized by accident. They smiled at him sheepishly as they made their way through the entrance.

“Hope I didn’t take too many liberties, coming here on my own,” they said apologetically, and he couldn’t help but smile and raise his brows as he took in the gazebo piled with blankets and pillows.

“You can’t mean for us to…er, truly?” he asked, blushing as he eyed the wine and the picnic basket, a small stack of books, his love’s bow perched haphazardly against the railing.

“What, take a nap? I don’t see why not, it’s a beautiful day, and the temperature is perfect,” they said innocently, raising their brows back at him. He squinted at them skeptically, but made his way along the rock path and up the gazebo steps. They looked pleased as they took a seat beside him on the blankets, and as they both pulled off their shoes he wondered if they were worried that he wouldn’t accept. Well, if he could manage in a log with who knew how many pixies watching, he could manage here. He would just have to…block Lyna’s key for a little while, in case she decided to visit.

As much as he was _very_ aware of his love casually divesting themselves of their clothes beside him, he couldn’t help but cast a nostalgic gaze out over the garden, ever so much more beautiful in the light of day. Proper day! The azaleas surrounding the gazebo were in full bloom, the wisteria healthy and bursting with deep lavender and violet, the pond alive with colorful irises and hyacinth. Between the oak flanking the pond and the leaning willow next to the entrance there was a decent canopy in evidence, the sunlight filtering through the leaves in radiant brilliance. He took in a breath, realizing he’d never seen it like this, that perhaps this was what the very first citizens of the Crystarium were hoping for him to see one day when everything was righted. 

“What are you thinking about?” they asked him, already lounging in their underwear as they passed him a flute of white wine. He stared at them for a moment, alit with muted sunlight, relaxed and happy in his presence. It was everything and so much more than he’d ever dared hope for…and even so, he dared to hope for more.

“It’s still early afternoon, you know,” he answered instead, raising his glass to touch it with theirs before taking a sip. The taste of plums and citrus burst across his tongue, sweet and slightly dry. It was a lovely wine, and he couldn’t remember having the like ever in his life. “Where did you get this?”

“Ah, back in Wineport, it was one of their experiments last year. I’m relieved it survived the jump over the rift—sometimes food doesn’t make it, as you well know.” He winced, thinking of the time his love had thought to bring back Ilsabard bass for him—and returned through the aetherial mirror reeking of rotten fish. They chuckled at his expression and turned their gaze out at the flowers. “I don’t know why you said this is amateur, it’s a perfect early summer garden,” they murmured.

“Come now, there’s no denying that this is not on the level of the Tower garden,” he said self-consciously, taking another sip of his wine.

“They’re just different is all. I like how small and cozy this one is, and you can enjoy the weather more here. Not that the other one is lacking of course! It’s stunning. But this feels…perhaps more personal…?” they trailed off, frowning. “Maybe that’s not right, I know you built the one in the Tower by yourself.”

“I built the one in the Tower for different reasons,” he murmured, snuggling into them as they moved to sit beside him, already feeling a little warm from just a few sips of wine.

“There were reasons?” they asked, shifting to get comfortable. He nodded and sighed, letting himself be soothed by the rhythm of their breathing.

“When I first got here,” he began pensively, “I was…not the man you knew, nor was I the man you see now. I was young, only 26 summers, and though I certainly attempted to appear confident and knowledgeable, the truth is, those two years living in the aftermath of the 8th Umbral Calamity took quite a toll,” he said quietly. They had never spoken of this together, and his heart clenched painfully when they frowned and silently wrapped an arm around his waist. He turned his head to nuzzle at their shoulder and scooted a little closer, placing his wine to the side for now. “This was all a long time ago,” he said gently. “I can assure you I’m much better now, and in no small part because of your love, your selfless effort.” There was an unreadable element in the tender glance they gave him in response, the uncertain way they inclined their head for him to go on. He gave them another lingering bunt before he continued.

“Coming here with the Tower as I did, the people automatically assumed I must be some great mage, and I could not afford to disabuse them of the notion. Overnight they came to regard me as a leader, and I was woefully unprepared for the weight of that responsibility, on top of everything else I’d promised those I’d left behind. I…well, I suppose to make a long story short, I worked and fretted day and night, and after a while, I was quite…unwell,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit hesitant and clasping his hands in his lap. He’d spent most of his young life looking to die for a noble cause, and had found living for one under such duress so challenging that there were days when he didn’t want to live at all, months where sleep claimed him and would not let go.

“So you built this garden to help you recover?” they asked softly. He frowned, considering how much he should say, if it was worth saying at all.

“Not…precisely,” he finally answered. “As you might have guessed, when you knew me as a younger man I didn’t care much about flowers, certainly never saw myself taking up something so mundane as gardening. But when I woke after the 8th…well…the land was profoundly barren, and I realized how little I’d respected my surroundings as a young man. We were always on the move, and there was so much nothing. A few moons after I arrived, we…we happened to pass by your mausoleum.” He swallowed, blinking back the dampness in his eyes, not daring to look at his warrior’s face. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for them to hear this, still wasn’t sure if he should be talking about it. But he was done holding things back from them, done with secrets and lies by omission.

“There were offerings and mementos, as one might expect,” he continued, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees as he looked out over the wildflowers. “..but no flowers. Junk, mostly, because that was all people had, all that wouldn’t be stolen. I couldn’t help thinking, if you’d died in our time, there’d have been flowers for malms, and a beautifully maintained site, and…it just seemed so blighted and lacking for someone like you. In my grief, I was hellbent that you should have flowers, and swore the next time I visited that you would have them of me. But…search as I might, there weren’t any, not even the barest blossom that I might press and dry to bring back to you,” he whispered, blinking back tears again.

“Raha,” they said, his name colored with love and anguish. He couldn’t help but look to them, and was surprised when they leaned over to press their forehead to his, brush a kiss across his lips. “I’m here now,” they whispered, and he gave a bittersweet smile against their mouth, brushed a kiss of his own.

“I know,” he answered simply. “I know.” After a moment they sat back, and when he searched their eyes, saw their resignation and bravery, their gentle concern, he knew it would be fine to continue.

“I ended up making one myself, sewed it out of that old red shirt I wore when we were exploring the tower. It looked terrible, honestly, but it was the best I could do…and it wasn’t acceptable. Not my effort, but rather, the state of the world. I knew it already, but I think up to the point I put that flower on your grave, I was still in shock. It was then that I realized what I must do, that I found the solid base to shoulder the weight of my resolve moving forward.” Silently they reached out and laced their fingers together with his in his lap, and he flicked his tail over to wrap around their backside.

“When I first got here, there were so many things to be done, and I didn’t have time to do much else…but that poorly handmade flower was always in the back of my mind, always served as a reminder that you deserved better. I think…somewhere along the way, I forgot that I deserved better as well. Do you recall Mao Ladd, who works in the Hortorium?” he asked, and they blinked at his sudden question.

“I do, I joined his research team when they were searching for the samiel. Why?” they asked.

“His grandfather Zhen Ladd was the first person I ever met on the first, and his efforts were very helpful. He was a fine leader and a charismatic speaker, and it was he who encouraged others not to be afraid of the Tower, and the real driving force behind the beginnings of the settlement that would become the Crystarium. Truly, it was through his example over the years that I learned how to lead. It was about, oh, twelve years after I arrived, I suppose, and I was working myself near to death, so frightened that everything I was doing was for naught...He kept returning to the Ocular needling me about taking a break, and after the fifth or sixth time I was…cross. And then I wept like a kit.” He gave a puff of laughter at the memory. “He said to me then, ‘Son, flowers will grow even if you aren’t there to tend them. Might not be the flowers you wish for, but they’ll grow.’ And then he told me to get a hobby, for pity’s sake.” He chuckled again, and was relieved when his love joined him.

“Am I to assume that the gardening was the hobby?” they asked with a grin.

“Not right away,” he allowed. “But when he spoke of flowers, I couldn’t help but think of that pathetic flower I’d made on my own, how even all that time later I wasn’t sure if my work would bear fruit…and I thought perhaps, if I could prove to myself that I could help things grow…well, perhaps, as you guessed earlier, it would have a healing effect. But there were a number of levels to what he meant to convey, and I’m shamed to admit that it took me a while to realize that part of the lesson was learning to trust others to do important work. In all my life up to that point I’d never been much of a ‘team player’, so to speak…but I realized, if I were going to undertake this mission, I was going to have to open my heart to others, as I could not hope to achieve my goals alone. I was nearing forty years of age at that time, and I’d always kept to myself…it was difficult, and humbling, but my first venture into a joint effort was this very garden, because it was a tangible thing that we could work on together, because I wanted to show them that there was much I stood to learn from their example.” Lost in memory, he freed his right hand from their grasp and ran his fingers over the worn floorboards of the gazebo.

“It was then,” he admitted softly, “That I realized they cared for me as one of their own, that they loved me, and I’d been too frightened and buried in my work to notice. And I won’t pretend that this is a lesson I learned well…I fear I relapsed many times, and still do to this day,” he said ruefully, giving his warrior’s hand a squeeze. “But it taught me how to accept help, and even how to ask for it sometimes, a quality in which I’d been woefully lacking up to that point.”

“Gods, Raha. I confess…that wasn’t what I was expecting to hear when I asked, but…my thanks for telling me…for trusting me with it,” they said softly, leaning in again to brush a kiss over his cheek. He nuzzled at their face in turn, bumped their foreheads together.

“And my thanks for listening,” he murmured. “It has been…a long while since I had anyone I might confide in like this.” Their hand came up to rest at the nape of his neck, and after a proper, lingering kiss, they gave his braid a playful tug.

“Need to drink the rest of your wine after a story like that?” they asked, and his eyes dropped to his glass, still nearly full, then noticed with a frown that his love had drank all of theirs.

“I’m fine, truly,” he insisted. “And…I prefer to take my time with alcohol,” he added, neglecting to inform them that imbibing usually put him right to sleep.

“Mm, come lie down with me then? I think I drank mine too quickly,” they whispered, burying their face in his neck. He smiled fondly and ran a hand down their back—they’d said before that their tolerance was low, and apparently they hadn’t been exaggerating.

“I’d be delighted,” he answered, and he meant it. After some thought, he undid his clasps and pulled both robes over his head, which won him quite a lovely crooked smile. His heart soared--he wanted to cuddle close to them, feel every ilm of their body against his, even if this wasn’t going to go quite in the direction he’d been hoping for. There would be time for that later, and oh, how good it was to have them near. He didn’t miss how they winced and briefly pressed a hand to their hip as they made to lie down, but he said nothing. He was tired of talking, and regardless of how he reassured his love, a bit of rest and nearness after his tale would be most welcome.

“I’m actually going to take a nap,” they half warned as he laid down beside them and tucked his head under their chin.

“I realized,” he chuffed with amusement, then started as their hand wandered down his backside to trace lower. “Wh-what are you up to?” he asked, trying to keep a level voice as those fingers teased up and down over thinly clothed, paper-thin skin.

“I’m going to do this later,” they whispered, redoubling their efforts and earning a squirm.

“You’re doing it right now,” he breathed into their neck, already half-hard.

“I just wanted you to know,” they answered impishly, and he shuddered as they pulled away. When he untucked his head to squint up at them, they were already asleep. _Well, I suppose that’s fair_ , he thought with a huff, and once his contrary tail stopped lashing, he flicked it to rest over their waist and dozed off himself, happy and warm.

Sometime later he awoke to murmuring nonsense against his ear, and at first he thought they were having a nightmare. By the time he had carefully pushed himself up on one elbow to look at them, however, they were sleeping peacefully once more. He sighed, resisting the urge to reach out and brush fingers across their cheek lest he wake them.

He’d worried so when they first arrived on the First, their eyes haunted, the beautiful smile he remembered from his youth tempered, blunted by the hardships they had faced. They undertook all the tasks he asked of them with characteristic good nature, but even before the first warden was absorbed, he worried that perhaps he’d called them too late. The timing had been carefully planned such that they could accomplish all that they needed on the Source, but he hadn’t considered so much that they were getting older, that the physical necessities of their incredible feats were beginning to take their toll. His heart ached as he looked over their scars, jagged and pale against their skin, and he thought of how they limped just from crouching the wrong way for too long while gardening.

They weren’t going to be able to fight like this forever. He worried that they would try, knew that on bad days they lost track of who they were in the shadow of their own greatness. He thanked Azeyma daily that the Scions loved them, looked after them as family, because he shuddered to think what might have happened otherwise. 

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but he wanted to be…no, meant to be part of that family. To wake up next to them every morning, to cook dinner with them, do chores, divide tasks, to fish and travel and sing, to share joy and sorrow and everything in between. To show his love not just through words, but through actions both subtle and grand, through the time he meant to spend at their side. To remind them that they were ever so much more than the Warrior of Light and Darkness, if ever they faltered in their own self-worth. And as much as his heart—still painfully healing after all these years of suffering—whispered that he didn’t deserve this dream, that he was hopelessly selfish, the proud young man within firmly believed that if he could just make it to the Source, his warrior would take his hand and they would walk together into the life he’d always wished for. 

He was going to make that auracite work. It had to work.

“That’s a very serious face,” they said sleepily, and he started out of his thoughts to find them smiling up at him. When their hand reached up to cup his face he leaned into it, closing his eyes with a sigh as a thumb traced over the crystal lining his cheek. “Are you well?” they asked, and he turned to press a kiss to their palm.

“I assure you, I’m the best I’ve been in more than a century,” he insisted.

“Me too,” they answered, then raised their eyebrows. “Perhaps not in a century, but I daresay you get the idea.” He beamed down at them, let himself be pulled in for a kiss, then gasped as they rolled over and he found himself on his back with them half atop him. “Is this okay?” they whispered, pulling back to look him seriously in the eyes.

“Yes,” he groaned. He loved that they asked, he truly did, but it had been nearly a week and with all these false starts they had to know that he was practically vibrating with anticipation.

“It _has_ been a while,” they hummed, as though they’d read his thoughts, and he gave a breathy giggle when they bypassed further kissing altogether in favor of mouthing down his neck to his chest, darting their tongue over where crystal met skin. When his fingers curled into their hair, they looked up to favor him with a cheeky grin. “You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?” they asked. He squinted and gave their hair a tug.

“I’m more concerned about you…you did drink _a whole glass of wine_ , after all,” he teased, grinning sharply, ears pinned. 

“Not a chance! You’ll find me quite attentive, I should think,” they laughed, and he arched helplessly with a cry as they trailed their tongue down the planes of his stomach, thumbs kneading suggestively into his thighs. He tried to steady his breathing as they planted kisses all along his hipbones, and gave a squawk and a playful swat to their head when they pressed a kiss to his navel.

“Will you st-ah-mmm…” he trailed off, canting his hips upward as they mouthed him through his shorts. Gods, he’d thought he’d been aroused before but it was _nothing_ compared to this, and he found himself fisting the blankets in both hands to gain some tangible hold on reality. When they pulled away he groaned at the loss, and peered down at them through his eyelashes as they pulled his shorts away just enough to free his tip. He threw his head back with another cry as they bent back down to explore him, trembled all over and sang for them as they seemed content to linger there, alternating between running the flat of their tongue over him, flicking playfully, taking him into their mouth and doing gods knew what before pulling off slowly and deliberately. When a hand reached back to clamp at the base of his tail and run a thumb up the underside, he shuddered and tangled his fingers into their hair to stop them, incapable of words. 

Through the haze he was darkly pleased to find their eyes smoldering and their breathing short as they moved up to take his mouth in a searing kiss, and he moaned when he tasted himself on their lips. At some point they’d rid themselves of their underwear, and his hips rolled helplessly as they bucked against him.

“Look at you, how much you’re enjoying this,” they said breathily, kissing him again, rising up for a quick nip at his neck that made him jerk. “You have no idea how much good it does me to see you this happily undone,” they growled, and when they ran their tongue up the shell of his ear, something in him gave way. With a strength he rarely had occasion to use, he dug his heels into the bed, used their own weight against them, and within a flash had them on their back with him victoriously straddling their hips. He panted as he stared a challenge down at them, daring them with his narrowed crimson eyes, his pinned ears and lashing tail, to do something about it.

 _You’re mine_ , he thought fiercely. _You’re mine, and I won’t let you slip through my fingers again. I’ll never turn my back on you again._

He felt keenly when his expression faltered, saw it reflected in their eyes, the ebb of their surprise as they relaxed and reached up to cup his face in their roughened hands. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, leaned into their touch and closed his eyes for a moment to just _feel_. The jut of their hipbones against his thighs, the warmth of their hands on his cheeks, the heaviness of his arousal, the early summer breeze dancing over his skin. This too, this would be part of what it meant to _live_ —this heady physical awareness where before there had been only static, this renewed peace with his own undeniable, forgiven existence.

He watched with a lazy, wondering calm as they removed their hands from his cheeks and raised their arms over their head to rummage awkwardly in their pack. A smile played at his lips as he guessed what they were after, and he used the ensuing opportunity to run his hands appreciatively down their chest, over their stomach, the tip of his tail dancing at their thighs. At last, they found what they were searching for, and his heart was heavy with tenderness as he watched them unstop the phial and carefully coat their fingers. He began to rise up on his knees to give them access—and pitched forward with a cry as they slicked their hand over his length instead, his thighs trembling as they thumbed at the tip before pulling away to reach down between their own legs. He watched in awe, mouth opening and closing several times before he could speak.

“Are…are you sure?” he asked faintly. They’d never done…well, he’d never done this part. His warrior seemed to always prefer to take the lead, and he was quite happy to let them do whatever they wished.

“I’d like this,” they said softly, and the sincerity in their eyes was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but lean in to kiss them. “If it’s okay, that is,” they added, nuzzling at his chin. Oh gods, he would do anything for them, and that they were offering this, that they wanted him to…It took him a moment to gather enough breath for words.

“I…I don’t think I’ll last,” he finally whispered, pressing his forehead to theirs.

“That’s okay,” they murmured. “I won’t either. You might want to get rid of those shorts, though.” They chuckled as he bolted up, ears perked as he struggled with trying to remove the offending garment whilst remaining atop them. As soon as he had them kicked away, they latched their hands onto his shoulders and tugged him down. “C’mon, I’m ready,” they whispered, reaching up to massage at his ears. He let out a shuddery puff of breath, but had to ask,

“Truly? You didn’t prepare very much, let me—“

“I’m ready!” they cut in, eyes blazing as they lifted their legs to press their heels into his lower back. “Trust me, I know myself, and…and I told you, I’m not going to last,” they admitted again, refusing to look away even as a blush burned its way up their cheeks. Undone, he buried his face in their neck, took himself in hand, and pressed into them as slowly and carefully as he could manage. Gods, they were so _warm_ , and his hips trembled with the effort of remaining still, his tail arced over them as he nibbled at their shoulders, desperate for any distraction, profoundly aware of the hammering of their heart against his chest, their gasps against his ears. He shuddered as a hand pressed down his spine, and their fingers tickled at where the soft hair of his tail began.

“C’mon you, move,” they ordered breathlessly, digging in with their heels, pitching their hips up. A throttled cry escaped him, and he nipped hard at their shoulder before he could stop himself.

“Give me a moment,” he gasped, “I’ll…I won’t…”

“That’s okay,” they whispered, and when those fingers moved to wrap at the base of his tail and tease at the underside, he lost whatever tenuous grip he had on his restraint.

He’d always imagined that if he ever had the chance to do this, that he should like to do it ever so slowly, draw it out, make them sing for him until they were hoarse. With their heels pressing him in, one hand at his tail and the other smoothing hard at his ears, their voice thick with pleasure as they whispered a string of endearments and encouragement…it was all he could do to slam into them, to find the angle that made them both cry out, to soften his bite when their body clamped down on him and his entire being peaked into a pure, hot note of exultation. 

Reality returned to them both in fits and starts, minds fogged with blissful afterglow as they clumsily kissed wherever they could reach, ran fingers through each other’s hair. At some point he withdrew, and held them close when they yelped at the loss. This time they tucked their head under his chin, and his chest ached so sharply that he had to struggle for breath, so profound was his joy. Their warmth pressed against him was perfection, the cool breeze sweet on their skin, birdsong in the air as they drifted off to sleep together.

When he woke, it was to find them on their side, facing him with the most tender expression he’d ever beheld in his life.

“Hello there,” they said softly, and he gave a puff of laughter.

“Hello yourself,” he murmured, flicking his tail to rest across their hips before moving in for another kiss. They lay like that for a while, basking in the sunlight, reveling in one another’s presence, in the peace that they had both worked so hard to bring about.

The calm was broken by a loud grumble, and they smiled sheepishly.

“I…may have forgotten to eat much this morning,” they said. “Any chance you’d join me for a picnic?”

“Mmhm,” he answered, not quite ready for words yet. After gently cleaning one another, they pushed up with an effort and stumbled back into their underwear, shy and grinning like fools. He watched in a happy stupor as his warrior pulled their pants back on, and reached down to pick up their flowing white shirt before they could get to it. It was big, even on them, and when he pulled it on it fell past his thighs. The delight in their eyes as they watched him button the front was infectious, and he made a mental note to steal their clothes more often. Also, it smelled like them, which was a delightful bonus. 

Hand in hand they made their way down the stone path, eschewing the more comfortable bench in favor of the grassy pond bank. His eyes widened as he sat down—in his preoccupation with the gazebo, he hadn’t noticed before that the pond had been skimmed, that the little garden he used to keep with Lyna was turned up and planted with popotoes. Just near the birdbath was a carefully stacked pile of weeds--and some things that weren’t weeds, he realized with a wince—but it was the thought that counted.

“Did you do this?” he asked quietly, curling his tail around their lower back as they opened the picnic basket.

“I did…thought it might be nice to clean it up a bit before you saw it by day, I hope it’s alright. Oh!” they exclaimed, reaching into the basket. “I forgot about this.”

His eyes widened as they produced a gorgeous crown of intertwined white clover and daisies and gently placed it on his head, a perfect fit.

“I, er…got distracted this morning and made this for you. It suits you,” they said bashfully, reaching up to swipe a thumb over his cheek.

They couldn’t have known that flower crowns were exchanged as part of Crystarium wedding vows. They couldn’t know, but his heart leapt, butterflies danced in his stomach, and his mouth was dry as he said,

“I’ll wear it proudly. I shall have to make one in return.” They favored him with a brilliant smile, and went about setting out the food. It was a simple repast of sandwiches, rolanberries, and sliced grilled apples from last night’s dinner, but he savored every bite of it as they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the sweet fullness of their time together. Once he finished he rose and went about picking flowers, only returning to his love’s side when he felt he had enough for a decent crown. The sun was growing a bit warm, so they scooted closer to the pond’s edge and dangled their feet in the water, the cool, crisp sensation bringing them back to themselves a bit.

Little by little they edged into conversation as he trimmed, tied, and wove the flowers together. He told more stories about times he’d had in the garden and the people who’d helped him build it, and his love related a few happy stories from their childhood and their journey with the Scions. He had to remind himself constantly to keep at his weaving—it was so easy to get lost in their voice, in the way the sunlight shone through the canopy and dappled their bare skin. But finally, the crown was done, and looking it over he was pleased enough with his efforts. Still, he fidgeted as he pondered how to go about giving it to them, what it would mean to him, what he should say.

 _Take me with you, let me always stand by your side_ , was what he wanted to ask, but knew that wouldn’t do, not when they didn’t have the power at hand to grant his wish. No, that request would have to wait until he could complete his part. There was something else though, he realized, running his fingers over the interwoven flowers.

No time like the present.

He bit his lip, leaned over, and rested the crown on his lover’s hair, tilting his head as he admired the effect and worked up his nerve. They smiled at him wonderingly, their eyes crinkled at the corners with joy. He met their gaze, willed himself steady.

“Come live with me?” he whispered, reaching up to tenderly brush their hair away from their face. Their eyes widened, and they blinked back tears.

“Was wondering if you’d ever ask,” they said tremulously, and when they pulled him in for a kiss, it was as though his entire soul burst into bloom.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently did a sketch of Raha and my WoL in a simple garden, and this story wouldn't leave me alone. I wrote it like a crazy person over three days...It's probably not as polished as it could be, but I wanted to get it out there so I could continue work on my other story. I initially wanted to write this with my own WoL, but in the context of my ongoing story this does not work, so I tried my hand at ambiguous WoL instead. It was a challenge but hopefully it turned out alright. 
> 
> Also, in case anyone was wondering, 'komorebi' is the Japanese word for the effect of sunlight filtering through the trees. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you liked it, consider letting me know one way or the other--like any creative endeavor, writing takes time and effort--a little encouragement does go a long way! If you want, you can look me up on twitter @syrcusgardens. Thanks so much again!


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